This is a collection of crack pairings
by Tippy.LaRoux
Summary: This is a collection of crack pairings, which I love to attempt. Who knows, maybe I’ll write the story that sparks the next Dramione-esque cult favorite. This one is Narcissa and Death Eater!Percy. Enjoy. Or, don’t. But please don’t pretend you weren’t warned. Xoxo
1. The Trouble With Teaching Twins

The streets in Hogsmeade were dark, dotted with glistening cobblestones under each lamppost. Argus Filch spent a long day minding the halls of Hogwarts Castle, and after the summer evenings of finding little more than Peeves knocking things about, he needed to unwind. To not worry about those hallowed hallways. The only place to go was Hogsmeade, and he wasn't sure he would find respite that night.

The smallest hint of a smirk tugged at his cheek as he walked by The Three Broomsticks. There wouldn't be an empty stool or bench until sometime into the wee hours of the morning. The windows were foggy from all the body heat inside, and the band's loud music was barely contained by the sparkling windows lining the front of the building. There wasn't enough money in the Malfoy's vaults at Gringotts for him to step foot in there.

The door flung open as he was walking past. A sickeningly sweet smell of Butterbeer and pipe tobacco followed him further down the road, he didn't overlook the two bodies pressed up against the wall next to the building. He was halfway to them before he remembered he wasn't on the clock, and they weren't students he needed to drag by their ears to their Heads of Houses.

They must've heard his shuffling feet, though, because they sprung apart before he could turn back to the sidewalk. He was caught looking at the two witches. Their eyes, glassy from the heated snog he interrupted, were wide and their lips were swollen. Both Pomona and Poppy began tugging at their waistcoats and brushing down their skirts.

"Excuse me." He hastily pulled the brim of his hat lower, covering his eyes. "Didn't mean to intrude. Please… carry on…" He stumbled through an awkward apology as his feet beat a hasty exit back to the sidewalk. Aching to get away from the scene he'd witnessed, he continued on—though, faster than before—through the streets of Hogsmeade.

He could swear he heard the word 'insufferable' between the huffs from the two witches and that followed him. He couldn't turn it off. He was the job, he had to be the job. This magical world he grew up in didn't have a place for him, other than as a caretaker after sprogs that didn't know their arse from a hole in the ground. But, he also refused to go into the Muggle community where 'his kind' usually ended up. How could they expect him to live there when he knew magic existed?

The only bit of magic he had was the link between him and a part-Kneazle he found wandering around his yard as a child. Mrs. Norris shouldn't have made it past that first week; she was malnourished and spat fire at anyone who came too close, even if they were offering care. But stubbornly, he never gave up on that furry beast. Behind closed doors, his parents said he used up all his magic on the mongrel. But, if he were being honest with himself, she was the one who brought it out of him.

Heading further into town—or, rather, further towards the outskirts of town—Argus was finally able to breathe easily again. The lamps weren't all illuminated, and the windows didn't sparkle like they did at the fancy shops. This was where he belonged and could attempt to be himself, no matter how insurmountable that may be. He hadn't made it one step into the door before he started questioning why he left his cozy office for this. The usually empty pub was packed. He moved further in, out of the evening rain, and began to formulate a plan for an uneventful night.

"I've seen you at the school, yes?" A strong female voice interrupted his internal fortification and he groaned as he realized just how insurmountable a task it was proving to be: escaping from the mantle of Hogwarts' caretaker, even if just for the night.

He peeked out under the brim of his hat. Dark strands of hair hung over his eyes, but through them he noticed the pretty brunette Transfiguration professor. He wasn't surprised to see her there; the first day with a new batch of filthy little beasts was what drove him to the village too.

"Aye, I've been there about a hundred years, it seems." the last words sounded as though they were stuck in his throat. It could've been from the cold rain he'd just walked here in, or from cursing students all day. Glancing down at the glass in front of her, he added, "but, you've just started."

"Yes I have. Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration professor. Would you care to join me?" she asked, gesturing to the bench across from her. "It seems to be a busy night here at The Hog's Head. You might be forced to stand otherwise."

Looking around, he realized she was right, there were no other empty chairs in the usually overlooked pub. Moisture was beaded up on his worn, waxed moleskin overcoat, and a bit of rain clung to the tips of his hair that hung below his hat. He could use a seat, and a drink.

"I don't see anyone else jumping up to lend a seat, why not." Argus shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on the hook next to the cubicle.

The pub might have been as crowded as he'd ever seen it, but the glasses were still grimy, service remained surly, and the Firewhiskey burned just as hot going down. He ordered three; the first didn't hit the counter and took the edge off a bit, the other two he carried over to the small table with the little witch.

The light was reflecting off the glass in front of her as she twisted it on the table. She looked to be lost in thought and he almost considered leaving her to herself. His coat would be fine here and he imagined she wouldn't be missing his company, but his feet hurt from standing all day and she was nice enough to look at. He could think of other, much more painful, ways to spend the evening.

"How early did you get here to snag a table?" He had cleared his throat before he got to the table, but she still seemed startled to hear his voice. As he slipped into the booth across from her, he watched as her pupils returned to normal, and her shoulders relaxed. The smile that crossed her face reminded him of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting field mouse. It was terrifying and breathtaking in equal measure.

"The moment Prewett transfigured my chair into a porcupine I let Albus know that I wouldn't be at dinner!" Her face flushed as her agitation increased. "Honestly, a second year should not be able to perform that level of spellwork!"

Her eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight overhead. He'd seen that look before, the exasperation. But this time, it looked to be mixed with the tiniest bit of something like admiration. Argus did not understand that. As a matter of fact, he had an entire filing cabinet full of write-ups that he could point to that described just how much he didn't admire the Prewetts, or their antics.

"Ah, that would be Fabian. Wait until you meet his twin brother, Gideon. You'll be glad you aren't the Potions professor." Argus began sipping on his second Firewhiskey and a familiar warmth began to spread over him.

"There are two of them?" Her eyes—they looked jet black in the dim light—were so wide he could see the whites all the way around her iris.

"Ah, I hate to break it to you, Minerva. Yes." He tried, unsuccessfully, to hold in a chuckle.

"Why?"

"If I had a Knut for every time someone said that." Argus leaned back and took in the look on her face. "Let's just say, I wouldn't be chasing kids out of the corners of dark hallways anymore. At least they were sorted into different Houses."

"I couldn't even imagine having them both in the same class." He watched as a shudder went down her spine.

"Prewetts aside, how has it been?"

"As far as first days go, it could've been worse—though, I don't know how."

"Nah, it couldn't have been that bad."

They spent the rest of the evening talking about Minerva's first day of teaching. Her list of questions about the school were endless. He was able to answer most of them; he'd been at the school a while and picked up on more than people gave him credit for.

The crowd began to thin after midnight, and by two-thirty, they were the only souls in the little pub, save the barkeep. Aberforth turned up the lights and sent a swarm of brooms and mops to clean up the place, beginning in the corner where they were sitting. Whether it was meant to put on a show for the last two patrons, or push them out the door, Aberforth's antics encouraged to two to finally leave the pub.

"I'm glad to have meet you, Argus," she said as they stood outside the door. The sign overhead was creaking in the autumn wind.

"Aye, and I you, Minerva," he told her simply, tugging on his hat.

They walked back through Hogsmeade saying nothing, but basked in a relaxed silence. The streets were empty, and the soft rain had ended earlier that evening. The cobblestones still sparkled under the lamplight, and when they passed by The Three Broomsticks, Argus couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips when he saw a couple professors that were no longer standing under their own volition. He'd have to remember to patrol the potions hallway frequently in the morning.

Lost in his own thoughts of the day ahead, he almost missed it when Minerva's heel caught in one of the uneven cobblestones. Her body lurched forward and she was nothing but a blur of tartan cloaks and auburn hair. His reflexes took over, and without thinking, he had his arms firmly around her waist. Her back was pulled flush to his chest. It was like holding a thousand volts of electricity in his arms.

When they straightened up, the full height of her body was pressed against his. He felt the sharp intake of her breath under his arm and let go of her, his hands burning from touching her. The soft curves of her body were juxtaposed with the rough wool of her overcoat. From her hair he caught a whiff of elderflowers; he backed away quickly before he was caught smelling it.

"I… um…" he stumbled over his words, but continued on after clearing his throat. "Are you okay, Minerva?" He watched her smooth her hands over her hair, and rested them over her chest before turning back towards him.

"I'm fine."

He took a step towards her and watched as that same look she had earlier in the pub crossed over her face. She had the grace of a lion when she closed the gap between them. It was just as terrifying and breathtaking as he remembered it from earlier, and he was afraid to look away when he felt her soft breath on his face.

Her lips pressed to his, and he had to clench his fists at his sides to keep himself from pressing her to him again. When she pulled back, he could taste the Firewhiskey they'd shared on his lips.

"Thank you, Argus. I couldn't have asked for a better ending to the day."

He was about to tell her the same, when the Potions professor came barreling out of The Three Broomsticks. Argus caught him before gravity got the best of the inebriated wizard, and when he turned back around, Minerva was gone. Argus ended up walking someone back through the halls of Hogwarts that night, but it wasn't who he wanted it to be.

Maybe next year.

A/N: This was written under the assumption that 50% of Argus's characterizations in canon were set through the eyes of a child that, understandably, didn't like the jerky old man that kept him from wandering the hallways at all hours of the night, and from running in them during the day. However, he stubbornly chased after any student whether they liked it or not. The Houses Challenge

Hufflepuff - Prefect

(Location) Hogsmeade word count: 2000QLFC:

Falmouth Falcons

Chaser 3

Write a canonically stubborn character faced with insurmountable odds. (word) insufferable(quote) "I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny, but we can have lots of good fun that is funny." - Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat(dialogue) "If I had a Knut for every time (...) said that." (fill in the blank with any pronoun or name)

Hogwarts

Ravenclaw

Advanced Warding

Task 4–Light: Write a story set at night

Appreciation-5 Write about someone important arriving somewhere

Disney- C5

Showtime-3

Last, but not least:

Hogwarts—Auction

Ravenclaw—prompt: Argus/Minerva


	2. A Cabin in The Woods

After the Battle of Hogwarts, what was left of The Order agreed that they needed a man on the inside to keep tabs on Voldemort. They knew Harry would be a target, but they weren't sure how far Voldemort's reign stretched.

George had fallen into a deep depression after he lost Fred. Most nights he was found laying on the floor of a pub after having challenged anyone within earshot to a duel. It was almost too easy for George to drive The Order to excommunicate him. It was much harder for the Dark Lord to trust him enough to welcome him into the ranks of the Death Eaters, but eventually he did.

They had been on the hunt for months and so far and all Bellatrix and George had been able to report back to the Dark Lord was that Harry Potter was no longer in England.

"This is as good a place as any," the cabin looked as though it was held together by some weakened charms, and a few rusty nails. George pushed through the front door into a one-room shack that likely hadn't been inhabited in decades.

"Scourgify!" George pointed his wand around the room and with a few flicks of his wrist the place looked a little less grimy.

"You couldn't just leave it, Red? You had to use a spell, when you know you are being traced?" Bellatrix's eyes were burning through him as she paced inside the door.

"Habit, I guess." George shrugged his shoulders and turned to go back out into the cold January night. "I'll get us some wood for a fire. No wand, I promise."

They were being traced, not only because of him, but also because of how unhinged Bellatrix became when The Dark Lord took young Amaranth Parkinson to be his partner in producing progenies.

The meal they ate that night was simple, some condensed soup and a few stale crackers, but it filled them up.

"I'm sorry for using the spell," George said quietly as he reached across the table. "Bella, please look at me," his fingers brushed over the tops of her knuckles.

"You know better, Weasley!" she screeched, before pushing her chair back and stomping out of the cabin. "I'm going to make sure the charms set up around the perimeter are working. Clean up the dishes, since you are so intent on keeping things clean!"

George knew she wouldn't be back until much later that night, but he never worried about her. She was the strongest person he had ever met, no one would mess with her and get away with it.

The embers were glowing red in the fireplace when she snuck back in. George was sound asleep on the only bed, but as soon as she slipped under the covers he stirred and reached out to pull her close to him. He was warm from sleep, and her riotous hair tickled his nose and smelled like snow. He moved it with his free hand and kissed the crook of her neck.

When he put his arm back on her waist, she reached down and laced her fingers with his.

"I just want one more night like this before we have to go back." She whispered.

"Fine, but you're doing the dishes next time."

She smiled, just a bit, but that was why she liked him. No one had ever made her smile like he did.

"Never."


	3. Football?

"Foul! How is that a foul?" Marcus Flint did his best to be heard over the mind numbing buzz of the vuvuzellas.

Dean Thomas smiled and looked over to his fiancée. "Babe," he whispered in his ear, "it was a blatant trip. You can't do that in football." Dean continued cheering on his favorite team. He grabbed onto Marcus's arm and tried to get the quidditch captain to join in the fun.

"There aren't any Beaters in this sport—no danger." Marcus just shook his head. "Crazy Muggles."

"Ah, but the good kind, right?" Dean tried not to laugh when the surly beast of a man scowled up at him from his seat. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and he reminded Dean of one of his nieces, but he wasn't going to bring that up just yet.

~~

"So, that was football?" Marcus swung his arm over Dean's shoulders as they made their way out of the stadium. "I still don't see why you get so worked up over it, when quidditch is a far superior sport."

"Ugh, I've been fighting this battle since Hogwarts!" Dean said, the faux exasperation in his voice stopped when he felt Marcus flinch. Hogwarts and battle were too close together. Marcus lost a lot of friends that day. Unlike Dean, who was their to fight and protect everyone he could, Marcus was half a world away at a quidditch summer league in Poland.

"What I mean is, I've been watching and playing football since I was a kid. It's what I was raised on, and my first love." Their kits were burgundy, to match the team. Though, Marcus insisted on getting one with at least some blue. He was Slytherin, damnit! And, Muggle world or not, he would not be seen sporting Gryffindor colors!

"I thought your first love was a fiery redhead who left you—" Marcus was abruptly cut off when Dean landed an elbow to his side. The mood shifted back to the playful one they usually kept.

"Listen, mate. She was my first girlfriend, not my first love." Dean leaned over and planted a loud, and wet kiss on the side of Marcus's face. "So prickly on the outside." Dean shook his head in false amazement. "No wonder you made it out of Hogwarts without a boy, or girl, falling all over you."

"Well, I've got you, right?" After being pushed and corralled by the throng of fans leaving the stadium, they finally made it to a small wizarding pub in the area.

Dean pulled Marcus into his arms, his arms draped over Marcus's broad shoulders. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "You know you've got me." It was so soft, no one else could have heard it.

Marcus let out a soft growl and pushed Dean back into the wall—one hand in his hair, the other at the small of his back. The kiss was all tongues and teeth and pent up aggression.

"Get a room, why don't ya?" Someone jeered from inside the pub.

They both relaxed and laughed a little when they realized who it was.

"I didn't realize it would be dinner and a show." Harry Potter laughed when the two strapping wizards both blushed.

"Ah, Harry, you old prude," Dean could give it just as good as Potter, "If I had a galleon for every time I walked in on you mid-snogg—"

"Here, have a seat. We'll get a couple pints and catch up." And they did.


	4. Okay

Chaser 3 - Falcons

Somebody to Love

Lyric: each morning I get up I die a little

(dialogue) "We are the champions!"

(dialogue) "I want to lead the Victorian life, surrounded by exquisite clutter."

(lyric) So much to do in one lifetime

She always increased the temperature in the ballroom two or three degrees when she hosted an event; tonight was no exception. Narcissa Malfoy swept through the magnificent room inspecting the silencing charms and making sure no errant relatives were hiding in the corners of any of the paintings. It had been three years since Harry Potter was finally defeated at the Battle of Hogwarts. She had been blessed to host the gala commemorating the event since the first anniversary. Why even try, when each morning I get up I die a little, has become the motto of her days.

Narcissa loathed May 2nd for many reasons; none of which had to do with the blasted gala she was forced to host. This event was just a punishment for her—dreamt up by a sadistic mind and enforced by someone who should have been an ally. Every year on this day Narcissa had to host a party in the ballroom she was married in. She needed to be the gracious hostess she was raised to be with the dazzling smile plastered on her porcelain face; the smile she saved for public events. She was forced to be this person, all while dying inside.

May 2, 1998 was the last day she saw her son, Draco, before he was stolen from her and taken to Azkaban. He died there a few short months later; no trial or conviction, just punishment for the untimely hesitation of a child. It was also the day she watched as her husband of twenty-five years was executed before her eyes. In one of the few truly selfless acts of his short life, Lucius used Legimens to show the Dark Lord that he had forced his wife and son to flee with him. When the Elder Wand was pointed at Lucius, instead of begging for a mercy he knew he wouldn't be granted, he looked into his wife's eyes and begged for forgiveness. She watched as the green light lit up her husband's beautiful face. When the silver in his dulled to a murky grey, she knew he was gone forever. She cursed the lone tear that betrayed her claim of disassociation.

That single act had saved her life. Though, she often asked herself, who could call her empty existence a life? The diamonds and gold that surrounded her throat were a collar. The weight pulled heavily on her whenever she felt the desire to walk back into the world beyond her gates. The memory of the time she did, and the burning that followed, kept her in the place she once loved so much. She was alone, and she never felt it more than when she walked the halls of the manor. In such a time as war, all she truly wanted was someone to turn to in the night, someone to walk through the gardens with. She wanted somebody to love.

"Mistress?" The sharp voice of her faithful elf broke through her reverie. "The guests are due to arrive in less than an hour."

Taking one last look around, and finding everything sufficiently situated, Narcissa headed up to her dressing room. "Time to don the armor, I suppose." She made her way up the stairs slowly. Her reflection made her cringe, the dark circles and vacant expression that all too often looked back at her. She would wear the dress and heels that had been sent to her for the occasion, and make herself presentable for her Lord.

.o0o.

Percy Weasley had gone numb after watching helplessly as his younger brother became the first of his family to die during the battle of Hogwarts. His mother, Molly, was able to stop Bellatrix from killing Ginny. From what he could piece together afterwards, was that she was not able to parry with the insane witch.

"We are the champions! We are the champions!" rang through the halls as Death Eaters ran rampant through Hogwarts. It was a crazy time, and with so much to do in one lifetime, it was not one that Percy would ever want to live through again.

With the matriarch gone, and the war all but lost, the remaining Weasleys did what they could to survive. Some, like Ginny and George, braved the storm together, while Charlie sent support from abroad. His father was exiled from the Ministry and Percy hadn't seen nor heard from him since he was ousted from his office one morning.

Percy was a survivor. They did not make him Head Boy, or Grand Liaison to the Dark Lord for nothing. Still something of a pariah to some of the founding members of the Death Eaters, he did everything he could to prove his worth and make his Lord proud.

He walked into the Malfoy ballroom promptly at seven thirty. The gala began at eight and he needed to reassure himself that not a thing was out of place. Narcissa was nothing, if not the most competent hostess; however, it would reflect poorly on him if the Dark Lord walked into anything other than perfection.

He walked through the ballroom and was spinning on his heel whispering up to the ceiling, "I want to lead the Victorian life, surrounded by exquisite clutter," when he heard the soft clicking of stilettos on marble. Percy was frozen in place when Narcissa swept into the room. It was as though she were floating on a cloud, and he couldn't help but stare. Though the recent deaths had shaken her to her very core—if all accounts from fellow Death Eaters could be believed—she was still just as breathtakingly gorgeous as he ever remembered.

"Mr Weasley," the hair could only belong to one family, "how fitting to see you here so early this evening." Percy took her hand and leaned down to brush a quick kiss against her black lace gloves.

"And you, Narcissa, are lovely as ever." A soft pink stained the top of his cheeks. "Is it warm in here?" He asked, pulling a bit on his collar, searching for something to drink. He added under his breath, "or is it just me?"

She leaned toward him in a conspiratorial way and whispered in his ear. "No, Percy, it is not just you."

He would swear to his dying day that his gulp was audible. When she leaned in to him, he could smell bergamot and elderflower on her swan like neck, and time stood still for a second. She was wearing a dress that must have been enchanted to hang in the right places, while clinging to others. It was as though the black satin was formed around her like a chrysalis.

Her soft laugh broke through his reverie and she pulled away. "I've found… interesting ways to keep my guests a little on edge, and a little thirsty." She turned toward the bar set up along the back wall, and as she walked toward it, she flicked her wand and two crystal tumblers landed softly on the rich mahogany bar top. Before she got to it, with Percy dutifully following behind her, there were large chunks of ice—that had arrived, on time, from the Swiss Alps that afternoon—a generous portion of fireoak barrel aged Firewhiskey, and a twist of orange to garnish was perfectly placed in the drink.

"Although, hosting does have its benefits." She added, while handing the first glass to him and taking the second for herself. "Such as, I always know where the good stuff is tucked away."

"Cheers to that, Narcissa." Percy tilted his glass to her.

"Cheers, Percy."

Maybe this would be the event that would finally be bearable. Maybe this time, when she went to bed, she wouldn't pray til the tears run from her eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, this time it would be okay.


End file.
